


Only Fools Rush In

by zjofierose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Just Married, Krolia is mom of the year, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M, accidentally married, also there is Elvis, but to be fair keith could be a little more clear, everyone is just trying to help, maybe trying to help too much, shiro needs to get a clue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Shiro and Keith wake up married in Vegas.





	Only Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosegardenlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardenlake/gifts).



> Rated Hard-T for lots of swearing, but surprisingly little smut. Written as a Sheithlentines gift for Myst, my lovely pinch-hitter who is stuck with what I was already writing!! (I hope you like it anyway, LOL!)
> 
> Many thanks to Verity and Xerampelinae for the beta-ing, and to the GC for the moral support.

Shiro wakes up with a pounding in his head and a taste in his mouth that rivals some memories from his cadet days. He lies perfectly still for a moment, taking slow breaths and checking in on each piece of his body in turn: Feet? Still present and not too sore, good. Arms? One operating under normal parameters, one entirely pins and needles under the weight of a warm body. So that answers where Keith got off to last night, then. Good to know. Stomach? Rolling, but probably okay so long as he moves slowly. Head? Definitely throbbing. 

He cracks his eyes open, and the hotel room comes into focus around him, lurid carpet and obscene floral wallpaper shouting at him. He closes them again and breathes carefully, in and out, in and out. He can hear the faint noise of Keith snoring lightly beside him, a comforting, familiar sound that makes him smile as he rolls carefully onto his side to wiggle his arm free from beneath Keith’s shoulders, pressing his chest against Keith’s back to get a little leverage. Keith grumbles in his sleep as Shiro slips free, and he eases Keith’s weight back down to the mattress as gently as he can.

The ring on Shiro’s finger is the first sign that something might be up this particular morning, but he honestly doesn’t even notice it until he’s stumbled his way into the shower and feels the water run over his hand differently. It’s thin, silver, and otherwise unadorned, but it’s sitting rather incriminatingly on his left ring finger, and Shiro doesn’t have any particular memories of how it got there.

_ Huh _ , he thinks eloquently, and soaps himself up with the hotel-provided body wash. Maybe Keith will have some answers when he wakes up, Shiro thinks, and dismisses it to focus on the relaxing heat of the water rushing over his body. 

\--

Keith’s sitting up in the bed when Shiro comes out of the bathroom in a towel, a rush of steam flooding the room. He looks a little worse for wear than Shiro had, but he’s not too green around the gills. Still, he gratefully takes the bottle of water and aspirin that Shiro hands him, dry-swallowing the pills as he uncaps the water with a plastic-y crack.

Shiro unhooks the towel from around his waist to rub it over his hair with one hand as he digs through his suitcase with the other, prompting Keith to whistle playfully from behind him. Shiro shakes his bare ass in teasing response, tossing the towel at Keith’s head as he pulls his clothes free and steps his legs into his underwear. Keith catches it before it can whack him in the face and tosses it aside, grinning.

“Wish I could remember if I’d hit that last night,” he says, laughter in his voice as Shiro swivels his hips in a bad impression of a Chippendale. Shiro leaves off his antics to pull on a t-shirt, and remembers the ring when it catches on the sleeve.

“Don’t think so,” he says, “we must’ve gotten pretty fucked up, though, I really don’t remember much after Pidge made us all hit the tables so she could count cards.” He gets his shirt on straight and goes for pants. “I don’t feel sex-sore, though, just walking-a-lot sore.” He steps over to where Keith sits on the edge of the bed and comes to a stop in front of him, knocking their knees together. “Here, give me your hands.”

Keith blinks up at him. “What?”

“Give me your hands.”

Keith obediently lifts his hands up to Shiro’s, and Shiro catches his breath as he holds them, not quite sure what to think as he takes in the matching ring on Keith’s left ring finger. His gaze draws Keith’s own, and Keith lifts his hand to stare at it with mild confusion.

“Shiro,” he starts, “uh. Did we…”

“I think we might’ve,” Shiro laughs. “Here, you go take a shower, I’ll look around the room and see if I can find anything helpful.”

“Ugh,” Keith smacks his lips and makes a face. “ _ Fuck _ this hangover, seriously. Yeah, okay.”

Keith rolls off the bed and plods toward the bathroom, grumbling and scratching at his head as he goes, and Shiro can’t help the affectionate smile on his face as he watches. The bathroom door closes and he comes back to himself, planting his hands on his hips and looking around the room.

It doesn’t take long to find, in the end, just a slightly crumpled piece of paper shoved into, of all places, the folds of the Gideon’s Bible in the nightstand. He takes it in his hand and holds it, settling down on the edge of the bed as he reads, his eyes skimming the faux-gothic typeface as his brain attempts to register the words. “ _ This is to certify that the undersigned, _ ” it begins, “ _ did on the 29th day of August join in lawful wedlock, _ ” and then there are his and Keith’s names added in bold ink. 

He feels Keith’s weight dip the mattress behind him as his chin comes to rest on Shiro’s shoulder. A drop of water falls from Keith’s hair onto the paper, and Shiro mindlessly rubs it away with his thumb.

“We really did, huh,” Keith says, and laughs, tipping his head against Shiro’s own briefly before climbing away to get dressed. 

“Looks like it,” Shiro says, and sets it on the nightstand. He can think of far worse situations to wake up to in Vegas, considering. “Congratulations, Keith,” he says, sliding on his shoes as Keith finishes doing up his belt, “we’re married.”

Keith just rolls his eyes and smiles, crossing the room to tug on Shiro’s belt loop and move toward the door.

“Come on, old timer. Got your room key? I’m hungry.”

\--

“Wait,” Pidge says halfway through breakfast, ever the sharpest eyed of their team. “Shiro, why is there a ring on your finger?”

Allura and Hunk drop their forks as one, Matt pauses in his blow-by-blow narrative of remotely reprogramming the Bellagio fountains, and Lance put his hands to his cheeks and screams. 

“Oh my God, Keith’s got one too!!”

Keith looks up at where Lance is bugging his eyes out theatrically, his expression distinctly unimpressed. “Well spotted, ‘sharp-shooter’,” he says, making finger quotes just to watch Lance’s face go pink.

“Wait, wait,” Hunk holds up a hand before Lance can respond, “you guys disappeared after we got thrown out of the third casino - we thought you all just went back to the room, but you went and got  _ married  _ instead?” Hunk’s eyes squinch up with hope, and he folds his hands in front of him in prayer. “Please,  _ please _ tell me it was Elvis.”

Shiro laughs, exchanging an embarrassed glance with Keith. “Well, to be honest, the last thing I remember was walking down the strip with Keith…”

“You don’t…” Allura begins delicately, trying not to wince, “...you don’t  _ remember  _ getting married?”

“Classy,” Pidge snorts, “you two really are lightweights.”

“What about you,” Lance demands, rounding on Keith, “do you remember any of this?”

“Not really?” Keith stabs another tomato onto his plate. “I remember several of those pink drinks,”

“Ohhhh, the pink drinks,” Hunk winces sympathetically.

“...several of the pink drinks, and then going for a walk, and a lot of neon. And then…” he trails off, eyeing Shiro speculatively. “Do you remember a man with a cape?”

Shiro just shrugs helplessly. He remembers voices, and neon, and snippets of music, none of which is at all helpful in solving the mystery in front of them.

“At least we picked good rings?” Shiro holds his hand up, and Keith lifts his to admire them together. 

“They are attractive,” Allura agrees slowly, “I like the twining pattern. But Keith, it looks like yours may be turning your finger green.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shiro pushes the ring halfway down Keith’s finger, and sure enough, a faint green imprint remains behind. “You showered with it on, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Keith spins the ring around his knuckle before pushing it back into place. “I think mine’s a little big, too.”

“We’ll just have to get some nicer ones when we get home,” Shiro says, and Keith nods in agreement. 

“They should look the same, though. I like these ones.”

“Whoa, hold the fuck up.” Matt gestures wildly, the sausage on his fork bouncing as he swings it around. “We know you guys have some weird platonic life-mates/friends-with-benefits thing going on, but that’s a whole different thing than a marriage,”

Shiro looks at Keith, who just shrugs. It’s true, they’re close - they share beds on trips, and sometimes not on trips, and have fooled around on more than one occasion out of drunkenness, boredom, loneliness, or sheer desire. 

“Is it really that different?” Keith asks, and Shiro can tell it’s a genuine question. A fair one, too, he thinks, given that Keith didn’t exactly grow up around functioning models of matrimonial bliss.

“Well, there’s romance, for one thing,” Matt says, and Shiro can’t help but catch Keith’s eye and smirk. 

“I’ll romance you, baby,” he says, and Keith bursts into laughter.

“Oh my god,” Pidge says in horror, “never say those words in front of me again. Never. Again.”

“You’re not serious,” Lance’s mouth hangs open, “Keith and Shiro, the devastatingly handsome and dashingly single leaders of Voltron, settling down?  _ With each other _ ?” His voice squeaks, and Allura pops a donut hole in his mouth to shut him up.

“Lance thinks you’re devastatingly handsome,” Shiro says with a smirk, bumping Keith’s shoulder with his own. Keith just scowls.

“I don’t know why we wouldn’t be serious,” he says flatly, “just think of the tax benefits.”

“Rent savings,” Shiro answers, smiling as someone groans.

“Shared. Utilities.” Keith’s grin is devilish, and Shiro can’t help but start to laugh over the sound of Lance and Matt’s incoherent shrieking.

\--

“So, I was thinking,” Shiro says later as they’re in their room packing, “my place is a lot bigger than yours. It probably makes the most sense for you to move in with me.”

Keith hums thoughtfully. 

“Yeah, that’s true. My rent’s month to month at this point anyway, but your condo’s yearly. And you’ve got that nice little balcony.” He fishes a sock out from behind the headboard and chucks it at Shiro. “We’re keeping my couch though. Yours is lumpy.”

“Point,” Shiro mutters, zipping his duffel bag closed and taking one last look around the room. He’s pretty sure they’ve gotten everything, but he goes to check the bathroom one last time just in case. 

“I already checked it,” Keith calls from where he’s shoving a last pair of dirty underwear into his backpack. “Even behind the door.”

Shiro wanders back into the room and over to Keith, backing him up against the wall without ceremony and kissing him playfully. “You’re so good,” Shiro tells him with a smile, and Keith laughs into his mouth. 

“No buyer’s remorse?”

“Not from me,” Shiro answers, enjoying the feel of Keith’s warm, strong form pressed against him. If they didn’t need to check out… “you?”

Keith rolls his shoulders and tips his head back, eyes full of mirth and challenge. “You’re as good a ball and chain as any, Shirogane,” he says, then grabs the front of Shiro’s sweatshirt and pulls him down into another kiss.

The team is waiting when they finally get downstairs, arms folded. Pidge’s foot is tapping.

“Sorry,” Shiro coughs, dragging a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. Keith’s is beyond hope, so Shiro doesn’t know why he’s even bothering. He shoulders his duffel, and grabs Pidge’s as well in an attempt at a peace offering. “Shall we?”

\--

The flight back to base is only an hour and a half but it’s enough for Keith to fall asleep on Shiro’s shoulder, snoring lightly in the dry air of the cabin. It’s something that’s happened a hundred times before, but it feels more significant this time somehow. Shiro catches a glimpse of the thin silver band on Keith’s hand as Keith shifts, and he feels his head spin. He doesn’t know what to think about it yet, the fact that he and Keith are married, are  _ spouses _ . It feels…natural? And maybe that’s the part that feels the strangest - intellectually, he thinks this should feel like a much bigger deal than it actually does. 

“Hey,” Hunk says, settling down in the seats opposite them, “how’s it going?” He takes a look at the direction of Shiro’s gaze, noticing before Shiro can look away. “Reality starting to sink in a little?”

Shiro shrugs his free shoulder, careful not to disturb Keith. 

“I guess? I mean, it feels fine.”

“Were you guys like, um,” Hunk looks down at his hands, faintly embarrassed. “Were you guys dating? And just didn’t want to tell us?”

Shiro feels his eyebrows fly up. “No,” he says instantly, “we weren’t keeping anything from the team. Why would you think that?”

This time it’s Hunk’s eyebrows that rise, his in skepticism. “Well,” he says, “there’s the whole you-just-got-surprise-married thing. People don’t really… do that out of the blue.”

“It’s not out of the blue,” Shiro answers, trying not to feel defensive about it. “We’ve known each other more than a decade. We’ve been close nearly that entire time. We…” he ducks his head, then looks up, cheeks flaming. “We’ve definitely slept together before.”

“Oh yeah,” Hunk rolls his eyes, “we know. You guys aren’t exactly subtle.”

Shiro spreads his hands palm up in front of him. “We weren’t planning it, but…”

“Dude,” Hunk says, his face crinkling into a smile, “understatement much?” He laughs, and reaches over to pat Shiro’s knee. “It’s okay, man. Whenever you all decide to have a real wedding, just let me know. I’ve got some great cake recipes to try out.”

Shiro just stares at him blankly as Hunk pries himself out of the seat and heads back to the rear of the plane where Lance and Pidge are busily playing round after round of War. The intercom crackles as the captain announces their imminent descent, and the sound of it makes Keith stir in his sleep, his nose pressing cold into Shiro’s neck. 

The glint of Keith’s ring catches his eye again, and he turns Hunk’s words over in his mind. A  _ real  _ wedding? The thought stings unexpectedly, an implied trivialization of what they have. It’s ridiculous that it bothers him, he tells himself, and shakes it off. Keith’s head is warm on his shoulder, and Shiro laces their fingers together, turning and pressing his cheek to Keith’s hair.

\--

“You’ve been my emergency contact for the last eleven years,” Keith says the next night as they eat reheated Chinese take-out on Shiro’s kitchen table, “but I got the forms for updating legal partnerships from the Garrison head office today.” He slides a sheaf of papers across to Shiro. “I haven’t really looked through them yet, but they gave me some documentation about updating our wills and bank accounts, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Shiro stuffs a piece of broccoli into his mouth and drags the stack nearer with his free hand, “that’s a good point. You’re already my heir, but I don’t think I’ve updated my living will since my grandparents died.” He squints at the paperwork and thinks for a minute. “I think it’s a bit of a technicality, actually - as my legal spouse, you’d have power of attorney anyway, but I guess laying it all out makes it easier for everyone.” He looks up to find Keith staring at him flatly, a piece of pork hanging from his chopsticks. “What?”

“Are you telling me,” Keith says, popping the piece of pork in his mouth and stabbing a chopstick at Shiro threateningly, “that if I had never found you, or if you’d just stayed dead, I’d’ve inherited everything you’re worth?”

Shiro throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. Regretting the chance to get your hot little hands on that sweet, sweet Garrison pension?”

“I’ve got designs on your 401k,” Keith answers flatly, and Shiro puts his face on the table and giggles helplessly until Keith kicks him hard in the ankle.

“Come on, old man,” Keith grouches, but there’s an aching fondness in his eyes when Shiro lifts his head to look at him, “eat your food and do your paperwork. I wanna know I’ve got you on lock.”

“Yes, dear,” Shiro says, and leans over to kiss him right on his sauce-smeared mouth.

\--

“Bro,” Matt says, flopping down beside Shiro on the officers’ lounge couch, “brooo.”

“Yes?” Shiro doesn’t look up from the screen in front of him. Ops wants him to approve another round of information gathering on the Atlas’ latest upgrades, and he’s trying to schedule it against their next mission. “How can I help you, Matthew.”

“You. Me.” Matt points finger guns at each of them respectively before fanning them out to encompass the space around them, “the entire non-female-identifying population of this base.”

Shiro frowns. “It’s not like you to be exclusionary, Matthew. Are you wanting to organize a sports match again? Because if you do it without including Romelle, I don’t like your odds of surviving until the championship.”

Matt flops onto the couch next to him and groans. “No, you idiot,” he shoves weakly at Shiro’s screen until Shiro shoves him less weakly onto the floor. “Bachelor party! You need to have one!”

“What?” Shiro glances up, “why?”

“Why??” Matt sputters, “because it’s a time-honored tradition, and the responsibility of your best bro!”

“Keith’s my best bro,” Shiro says flatly, and Matt drops to the floor, clutching dramatically at his heart.

“You wound me! But no, overruled. Keith doesn’t count. You can’t have your bachelor party organized by the person you inadvisably and, apparently, forgettably, liaised with in Vegas.”

“So who does Keith get at his bachelor party,” Shiro asks, squinting again at his screen.

Matt waves a hand dismissively. “He can have the girls.”

“I think I want that party instead. They’ll have better drinks.”

“ _ Shiro _ !”

“Matt, seriously,” Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but neither Keith nor I want to make any sort of spectacle out of this.”

Matt climbs off the floor and settles next to him, and Shiro lets himself lean back into the well-worn cushions and dismiss the interface in favor of looking at his friend. 

“Hey, man,” Matt says gently, “I just want to see you happy. This whole, like… just randomly getting hitched in Vegas, it can’t be what either of you wanted. What you pictured when you thought about getting married. Don’t you want to do it up right?”

“Matt,” Shiro forces the irritation from his voice, “I never thought I  _ would  _ get married. I didn’t bother picturing it, because I didn’t figure I’d live long enough for it to come up. And Keith…”

“No, you’re right,” Matt agrees with some asperity, “I can’t really see Keith having sat around picking out tux designs either.”

Silence falls momentarily between them before Matt breaks it with a gusty sigh.

“Alright, I’ll let it go, but let the record show that I think you’re making a mistake to turn down  _ any  _ opportunity for everyone to bring you free booze.”

“Duly noted,” Shiro smiles, and Matt claps him on the shoulder as he stands to go.

“Just let me know if you change your mind!” 

Shiro rolls his eyes at Matt’s departing finger guns. 

“I will.”

\--

Shiro’s nearly done with his paperwork, having sorted it all into neat piles on the coffee table of “I Understand This;” “I Think I Filled This Out Correctly;” and “Oh God, Make Sam Look At This.” He’s about to change into his sweatpants and call it a night, maybe head into the kitchen and see what there is in the fridge to heat up, when the door bangs open and Shiro looks up to see Keith stomp into the room, a murderous look on his face. 

“Hey,” Shiro greets him cautiously, “rough day?”

“Ugh,” Keith answers succinctly, pulling his uniform jacket off and dropping it on the floor before crossing the room to fling himself onto the couch, landing with his head in Shiro’s lap and his feet hanging off the end. “Lance won’t shut the fuck up about the whole…” he gestures absently with one hand while pushing his face into Shiro’s stomach, “wedding thing.”

“Oh?” Shiro shoves his fingers into Keith’s hair stroking evenly across his scalp and rubbing down over Keith’s temples and behind his ears. It’s an art he perfected years ago, and the tension begins to drain from Keith’s body where it’s pressed against Shiro’s thigh. “What’d he say?”

Keith sighs heavily and flops onto his back, his eyes closed and his face grumpy.

“He says it doesn’t count, that we’re not really married.”

“There’s a piece of paper in the other room that says otherwise,” Shiro observes drily.

“I know, but,” Keith bites his lip, “he says a wedding we can’t remember is no kind of wedding. And then he went off on this whole rant about how weddings are about family, and about love and celebration, and that since the rest of them weren’t there, and we can’t even remember it, it’s not real.”

“Hunk said something similar,” Shiro says slowly, “on the plane.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he said to let him know when we were ready to have a  _ ‘real wedding _ ’, because he had some cake recipes he wanted to try.”

“Ugh,” Keith says again with feeling as he sits up and drags his hands over his face. “Why can’t everyone just let this go? It’s our business, and we’re fine, so like… just move on.”

“We’re the Paladins of Voltron,” Shiro points out in what he hopes is a reasonable, but not condescending tone, “each of our business is everyone’s business, and has been for years.”

“I know, but…” Keith’s voice is still tight, so Shiro reaches over and pulls Keith up against his side, enjoying all over again how well they fit together. “I don’t know. Do you think we should have a do-over? Some fancy thing where Lance can give a toast and Hunk can make a cake and whatever else you’re supposed to do at these things?”

He can tell the question is serious, so Shiro takes a moment to think it over. “I don’t know,” he says at last, “I guess it would be a nice gesture.”

“But?” Keith pulls away from Shiro’s grasp enough to look at him, waiting for him to continue.

“But I guess I don’t feel like I need it? Even if neither of us remembers it happening, it was real. We were there, and we made a decision, and I guess I don’t feel like just...ignoring that.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, and lurches up off the couch. “Fuck ‘em.” He turns, reaching back a hand to pull Shiro up off the couch with him. “C’mon. Let’s eat food and figure out how the hell we’re going to fit that hideous recliner of yours into your spare room.”

“Our spare room,” Shiro says, and the slow grin and jerky nod from Keith are all he can see. 

“Okay,” Keith shrugs, but it’s studied nonchalance, and does nothing to diminish the brightness of his smile, “ _ our _ spare room.”

\--

“Admiral,” Pidge says, stepping into his office the next day, “can I have a moment of your time?”

Shiro sits up and sets down his stylus. Pidge only calls him by his rank when she’s wanting to be serious about something, so he waves her to the chair across from him and folds his hands, giving her his full attention. 

“Of course,” he forces him not to tense up, watching as she settles herself on the edge of her seat. It’s been three years since the end of the war, and he thinks she may be the one who shows it the most, now in her early twenties and with a new, more adult, face to match. “What’s on your mind?”

“No one else is going to think to say this to you,” she begins, and Shiro’s heart drops to his stomach, “but you and Keith being married is a direct conflict of interest.”

“Just because our relationship has not previously been formalized doesn’t mean it’s new,” he tells her, “if we’re compromised because of our feelings now, we certainly were before, and it’s never been a problem.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about your  _ feelings _ , Admiral. I’m pretty sure at this point the entire universe knows what you and Keith would do for each other.” Shiro has the good grace to blush, and Pidge snorts softly at the sight of him before continuing, her face serious again. “I’m talking about the chain of command.”

Shiro frowns. “I’m not the leader of Voltron anymore, Keith is. I command the Atlas, and we both report to Garrison high command.”

“Not,” Pidge states clearly, “in battle,” and  _ fuck _ , Shiro thinks, she’s actually right. It’s been three years since the last time the Atlas commanded Voltron, and he certainly doesn’t anticipate it happening again any time soon, but… but yes. It is indeed a blatant conflict of interest.

“My family’s been with the Garrison for generations,” Pidge says gently, “I know how this goes. All it takes is for one person to complain about it, either because they’re ambitious and want to make themselves look good at your expense, or because they’re overly anal retentive about protocol, or even just because Keith looked at them funny, and then suddenly you’re sitting in the middle of a scandal.”

Shiro exhales slowly. He’d like to think nothing like that would ever happen, but he’s not naive enough to let himself do it. 

“Any suggestions?”

She pauses for a long moment, watching his face carefully. 

“Are you going to stay married?”

“You mean,” he asks calmy, “are we going to get an annulment?”

Her chin lifts in response to something in his tone, but she holds his gaze without blinking.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” she tells him, her voice neutral.

“We’re not planning on it.”

“In that case,” she says thoughtfully, “I’d see about getting Allura involved somehow. If, for some reason, Voltron and the Atlas have to go into battle again, she could command Voltron from the Atlas and coordinate with you both, while providing a buffer between you in the power structure that covers everyone’s asses.”

Shiro thinks it over for a moment. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s a good start. 

“You should talk to my mom, too. She and dad were never in the same department, but her parents were, so she might have some suggestions.”

“Thanks, Katie,” Shiro says sincerely, and she nods in acknowledgment. “I appreciate you bringing this to my attention.”

Pidge shrugs. “Doesn’t do the rest of us any good if you two get fucked over for being against regulations.” She stands, and snaps off a quick salute, effortlessly crisp and military perfect while simultaneously nonchalant in the way only a Garrison brat can pull off. “See you around, Shiro.”

\--

“I need to update my driver’s license because I’ve moved,” Keith says on Wednesday over fish and chips. He has to nearly shout to be heard over the ambient noise in the mess hall of trays clacking on tables and boisterous conversations flowing all around. “Do you think we should hyphenate?”

“You’ll need to update your pilot’s license, too,” Shiro adds, and takes a bite of his battered cod. “And I don’t know, that’s a good question. Our names are pretty similar. Is that going to confuse people? Kogane-Shirogane?”

“Hmm,” Keith chews thoughtfully on a slice of cheese with sun-dried tomatoes. “That’s true. Twice the pronunciation fuck-ups.”

“I don’t need to change any of my ID’s,” Shiro points out, “I didn’t move. So probably you should just take my name.”

“Ass,” Keith smacks him and laughs, “what is this, the twenty-first century? We’re doing both or neither.”

“I’m going no on hyphenation, then,” Shiro says, snagging several of Keith’s fries and rolling his eyes as Keith bares his tiny fangs at him over his plate. “Hey, we’re married now, what’s yours is mine, including your food.”

“Fine,” Keith leans over and steals the chocolate pudding cup from Shiro’s elbow. “Thanks for the pudding, babe.” He smiles sweetly as he holds it out of easy reach, trusting that Shiro’s sense of decorum will prevent him from making a scene. 

It’s a miscalculation.

“Anyway,” Shiro says forty minutes later as he uses a cotton swab to sweep the last bit of chocolate pudding from his ear, “as I was saying, I’m against hyphenation. But,”

“But?” Keith’s voice is muffled by the shower.

“But neither of us have middle names. What if we take each other’s last names as our middle names?”

“Oh,” Keith says in surprise, “that’s clever. That avoids same-name confusion at work, too.”

“Yeah.” Shiro tosses the cotton swab in the trash, and wanders over to poke his head around the shower curtain. Keith’s hair is dark and thick with water, hanging down nearly to the small of his back when it’s loose and straight like this. It’s beautiful, just like the rest of him. “Takashi Kogane Shirogane.”

Keith turns around and smiles. “Keith Shirogane Kogane. I like it.” He leans forward and presses his mouth to Shiro’s, a quick damp kiss that makes Shiro smile. “I knew I married you for your brains.”

Shiro snorts. “I thought you married me for my retirement accounts.”

Keith waves a hand airly, tipping his head back under the spray to rinse. “There were many reasons. I’m a complicated man.”

“Mm,” Shiro hums, amusement thick in his voice. “Glad to know I’m more than a sugar daddy.”

“Labels are so confining,” Keith states, and Shiro flushes the toilet just to hear him shout.

\--

The next night, Shiro lies down to sleep with Keith in the way that is new but simultaneously not new at all, Keith’s lean heat pressed up against Shiro’s back, one arm tucked proprietarily around Shiro’s waist. Keith is out like a light instantly, possessor of an ability to fall asleep at any time and in any place which Shiro has always envied. Shiro takes a little longer to follow him down, but slides eventually into unconsciousness, his nose and mouth full of Keith’s dark hair.

The nightmares wake him around two in the morning, leaving him panting and overheated, queasy with the aftereffects of his racing pulse. He slips carefully out of bed and pads into the main rooms, stepping out onto the balcony long enough for the night breeze to dry his sweat and raise goosebumps on his skin before heading back in to the kitchen. 

He makes himself a mug of tea, watching the kettle until it steams, pouring it over the small sieve of leaves. He knows if he could eat, it would help settle his stomach, but he’s not there yet, so he inhales the aroma of peppermint and waits for his cup to cool.

Keith wanders out just as Shiro takes his first sip, his eyes sleepy and his bedhead atrocious. He takes the cup from Shiro’s hands and sets it on the table, then climbs onto Shiro’s lap without ceremony, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s neck and holding. 

“Nightmares?”

Shiro nods into Keith’s shoulder. 

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Shiro doesn’t, not really, but he knows putting words to the visions in his mind helps to lessen their grip, so he clears his throat and speaks.

“I was being held by the Galra again. I think it was a dream, not a memory this time. But.” Keith strokes his hair and lets Shiro’s hands grip at his hips. “This time they had you, too, and they were. They were going to make us fight.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” Keith’s voice is grimly amused, “neither one of us would ever willingly hurt the other.”

“ _ ‘Willingly’ _ ,” Shiro echoes, and tries not to remember Keith looking up at him as a blade burned into his cheek. He shudders, and Keith croons at him, soft nonsense syllables that settle his twitching fingers.

“When I was… there,” he continues, “I was always so torn. I wanted to see you, more than anything. But,” Shiro exhales shakily, “but I would have done anything to keep them from getting you.”

“If I’d known,” Keith rasps, and Shiro shakes his head against Keith’s neck. They’ve been over this before.

“You couldn’t have. There was no way that you could have figured it out.”

Keith is silent, but Shiro knows Keith doesn’t believe him. It’s alright; he knows he carries his own share of misplaced guilt for events outside of his control. He drags his mind away from the dreams, and focuses instead on the beating of Keith’s heart where it echoes against his ear, on the slow rise and fall of Keith’s chest. 

Eventually Keith turns in his hold, loosening Shiro’s grip enough that he can grab Shiro’s tea and place it back in his hands before rising and padding over to the fridge. The loss of Keith’s weight and heat from on top of him is hard, but he presses his still-warm mug against his sternum and lets the heat of it ease into his muscles as Keith rummages in the cupboards to pull down two plates and the peanut butter. 

“I’m not really…”

“You need to eat something to settle your blood sugar after an anxiety attack,” Keith says, and his tone is soft, but utterly unyielding. “You know this.”

He does. Shiro sips his tea silently as Keith heats two tortillas in the microwave, then smears them lightly with peanut butter, rolling them each into a tube before wandering over to hand one to Shiro.

“Eat,” he says, and Shiro does. 

When they’re both finished, Keith stacks the plates in the sink and comes to take Shiro by the hand, hauling him carefully to his feet and guiding him down the darkened hallway to the bedroom. He pushes Shiro onto the mattress and rolls him over onto his stomach against the sheets. Keith’s body comes to lie on top of him, his chest to Shiro’s back, cold tip of his nose against Shiro’s neck, and Shiro lets the quiet comfort of Keith’s surrounding presence carry him off to sleep.

\--

Friday is long, and Keith is on the night shift, leading a training flight of cadets out over the desert, and won’t be back till Saturday afternoon. Shiro stays late in his office finishing the week’s paperwork, and almost doesn’t hear the knock on his door.

“Come,” he says, and the door opens, framing Allura’s slim frame and haloing her with the hallway light. 

“Already?” he asks sheepishly, and she smiles at him. She looks as impeccable as ever, but he can see the faint bags under her eyes. Her hours run as long as his most days, and longer on some.

“No getting out of it,” she answers, her tone light, “I know Keith’s not here tonight, you have no excuse.”

“As if I’d ever want an excuse to avoid you.” Shiro closes his displays and stands from behind his desk, stretching and letting his vertebrae crack and pop. “What are you in the mood for?”

Allura thinks for a moment. “Let’s go to that place with the fried...what are they?”

“Oh, the hush puppies?” Allura nods vigorously. “And the fried mashed potato balls? You’re speaking my language.” Shiro smiles, and holds out his arm to her. “Let’s go, princess.”

\--

Between Altean high metabolisms and the sheer amount of calories required to maintain Shiro’s bulk and power his arm, they work through a truly embarrassing amount of various deep-fried food stuffs. Shiro makes a nod at nutrition and orders them a plate of vegetable hors d'oeuvres which they dutifully consume, but it’s not until the waiter brings their tempura ice cream balls and the check that they begin to converse beyond “can you pass the…”.

“So,” Allura says, and Shiro pauses with a bite of ice cream in his mouth. “How’s the first week of married life?”

“Et tu, Allura?” Shiro sighs. 

“We’re your friends, and we care about you, Shiro. And I know you’re both dedicating your energy to denying that this is any kind of big deal, but for most people, it is.”

“We’re not most people.” He can hear that his tone is mutinous, but Allura is the one out of all their friends who is neither younger than nor ranked lower than he is, so he makes no effort to conceal his frustration. She’s safe, and she’s seen worse from him before. 

“It’s true that you are both exceptional in many ways, up to and including the level of devotion that exists in your relationship. But that relationship, up to this point, has not included a romantic dimension.”

Shiro lifts an eyebrow.

“Alright, fine.” Allura frowns. “An  _ openly acknowledged _ romantic dimension, then. Correct me if I’m wrong here, but from what I’ve observed, you do both experience romantic attraction, yes? And have previously sought out romantic relationships?”

“Yes, we’ve both dated before,” Shiro grumbles, and Allura pins him with a disbelieving stare. 

“And yet. You were in a committed relationship with a partner before Kerberos, which was...how many years ago?”

“A lot,” Shiro mumbles.

“And Keith?”

“...also hasn’t dated anyone since before he was in the Garrison, as far as I know.”

“So, never even as an adult at all.”

“...I guess not, no. But Allura,” Shiro pushes the remains of his ice cream around in its bowl, tired of his friends’ pushing, tired of feeling like he’s supposed to think he made a mistake. “What’s the concern here? Keith and I have been the most important people in each others’ lives basically since we met. This is just some jewelry and a piece of paper.”

Allura reaches out and settles her hand over his. “No one is questioning the depth or breadth of your love for each other. And I can’t speak for the others, but,” she takes a breath, “my concern is, what if this doesn’t work out? What if, for all that you two are devoted to each other, what if you’re not romantically compatible? What happens when one of you inevitably hurts the other? Or worse, what if one of you falls in love with someone else? How does that affect what you already have?”

Shiro frowns. “That’s a question any couple faces. You can’t just not try something because of the risks involved. I’ve never lived my life that way, and neither has Keith.”

“Most couples don’t have the history you and Keith have.” Allura finishes her last bite of ice cream, her eyes suddenly unfathomably old. “For your sake, Shiro, and for Keith’s - I just want to know that you’ve thought this through.”

Shiro swallows down his frustration and squeezes her fingers. “Thanks, Allura. I appreciate the concern.”

\--

He hates to admit it, but it keeps him up all night, tossing and turning in his bed. Once the first what if ( _ what if I hurt Keith _ ) comes, they don’t stop, and he drags himself out of bed at three in the morning to make a list so he can try to find some answers and shut his brain up enough to sleep.

_ What if he hurts Keith? _ Well, it has actually happened before, or at least clone!him hurt Keith, and Keith handled it like an emotionally mature, if saddened, adult, and here they are now, so he feels okay about that. 

_ What if Keith hurts him? _ He has a hard time imagining it, but he likes to think that he would also handle it like an emotionally mature adult. Tell Keith what he’s feeling, talk about what happened, try to figure out how to avoid it happening again. He crosses that one off the list.

_ What if they end up wanting different things at some point? _ Again, given they’re both in the same career path, and have always been, and given how closely they work together, this seems unlikely, but Shiro tries to imagine it. Say Keith decides in ten years he wants to become an artist, and abandon flying. Well, Shiro thinks, they’d work it out- Keith could just move in to the Atlas, and do art wherever they went. It all seems pretty solvable with good communication and some compromise.

_ What if one of them falls in love with someone else? _ This one is trickier - he’s been in love with Keith since before Kerberos, if he really thinks about it, though he’s not sure he knew it at the time for what it was. He can’t imagine, after all they’ve been through, that ever changing. The thought of Keith falling in love with someone else is harder to take, but he makes himself sit with it, try to imagine what he’d feel. It would hurt, undoubtedly, but ultimately it’s like he told Allura - he’s never been someone who held back from doing something out of fear of the consequences. He crosses it off the list as well.

He’s feeling really pretty good about all of this until the final question, one he’d barely even thought of, but which is now staring him in the face. 

_ What if Keith is only going along with this because he thinks it’s what Shiro wants? _

He doesn’t have an answer. He wants to just rule it out, wants to think that Keith would never compromise his own happiness just for Shiro, but… he can’t. Keith would, and has, and while Keith as a default is honest and forthright, he has a blind spot the size of a house when it comes to caring for Shiro. 

From there, the questions multiply:  _ What if Keith thinks this was a mistake, but doesn’t want to say so? What if Keith ends up resenting him for having assumed that this was what he wanted? What if Keith feels trapped? _

He gives it up as a bad job, and goes to lie in his bed, staring at the darkened ceiling until dawn breaks.

\--

0800 hours sees him pulling up the video screen and biting his lip as he places the call. He crosses his fingers that he’s done the time math correctly, and isn’t calling in the middle of the night, but Krolia merely looks surprised, not annoyed, when her face appears.

“Shiro,” she greets him calmly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was hoping…” he starts, and then realizes he doesn’t even know if Keith’s told his mom about them yet. “I was hoping to speak with you in private, if you have a moment,” he says, crossing his fingers where she can’t see. 

“Sure,” she says easily, “just give me a tic, I’ll transfer this to my quarters.”

He watches as the screen goes dark for a minute, then flickers back to life. Krolia’s framed by the dim purple lighting common on Blade ships, and he’s struck again by Keith’s resemblance to her, skin tone notwithstanding. 

“So, I’m not sure when the last time you spoke with Keith was…”

“Tuesday.” Her eyes are sharp, but she’s smiling just faintly, no doubt enjoying watching him squirm. “He told me you two are married,” she adds, and Shiro is abruptly grateful for the streak of bluntness that seems to run through Keith and his mother in equal measure. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he says weakly, and drags a hand over his face. He knows he looks like hell after his sleepless night, but the upside is that he’s too tired to beat around the bush. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Her voice is neutral, and Shiro supposes the “if you hurt my son, I’ll kill you” is implied, really. Krolia doesn’t need to make idle threats.

“What did he tell you about the circumstances under which it happened?”

Krolia’s mouth twitches. “He mentioned that you are both fuzzy on the details, and that it was impulsive. I believe there was likely alcohol involved.”

Shiro sighs. “Yeah. That’s about the sum of it.” He hangs his head. It’s the first time he’s really come face to face with the embarrassment of the whole situation, of the fact that he can’t even remember making Keith his. “We woke up and figured it out, and we just… went with it.” He gestures vaguely in the air, not sure what he’s trying to get across. “We’ve known each other so long, we’re already committed to spending our lives together, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Which, presumably, is how it happened in the first place, I guess.”

“But now?” 

“But I’m wondering if Keith really wants this.” Shiro admits, and he can’t decide if he feels better or worse having spoken the words aloud. 

“Have you asked him?” The soul of practicality is Krolia, he thinks.

“Not in so many words,” Shiro answers, “because I’m not sure if I did that he’d tell me the truth.”

“You think he’d lie to you?”

“No, no.” Krolia’s face is still, waiting for Shiro to get to the point. “No, I don’t think he’d intentionally lie to me. But I do think he’s very invested in whatever he thinks will make me happy. I’m worried he’d convince himself it’s what he wants because he thinks it’s what I want, even it’s not really what he wants.”

“Convoluted,” Krolia says thoughtfully, “but not an inaccurate assessment.”

Shiro takes a deep breath. Missing his parents is an old ache, missing his grandparents is a newer one, but healed over. Even so, in moments like this, he wishes he had an adult to turn to with more experience than he.

He takes in the image of Krolia, sitting serenely on the other side of the view screen. 

“Do you think we made a mistake?” 

Krolia shrugs, and the fact that she seems so supremely unruffled calms his nerves a bit. “I married an attractive alien a couple of months post-crash-landing because I was pregnant, and he wanted to  _ ‘make an honest woman _ ’ of me,” she says, and Shiro can’t help but choke on a laugh. “It would be hypocritical of me to cast judgment on the circumstances of your union with my son.”

“Do you regret it?” Shiro asks, heart in his throat.

“Never,” Krolia says simply and without hesitation. “I would do it all again today if I could.”

Shiro nods, focusing on his breathing to calm his pounding heart. 

“Shiro, the question is not,” she says, leaning in to the viewscreen, “whether I, or anyone else, think you made a mistake. It’s whether  _ you  _ think you did.”

Shiro gathers his thoughts for a long moment, trying to be mindful of the time he’s taking up while also finding the right words. 

“I don’t think I made a mistake,” he begins hesitantly, his voice gaining strength as he continues. “But I’m worried that Keith may think so, and I’m worried that he may feel trapped by a decision he can’t even remember, either now or later.”

Krolia nods. “In that case, my advice to you is this: make it so that he doesn’t feel trapped. Give him a choice.”

\--

Shiro greets Keith at the door with a hug, trying not to think about the papers he has in a folder on the kitchen table. He kisses the top of Keith’s head and shoos him to the bathroom, promising to order pizza while Keith bathes. He listens to Keith’s off-key singing in the shower fondly, and tries not to attach any hope to it one way or another - this will only work if he gives Keith the space to make a free decision. 

The pizza arrives, and Keith emerges, damp-haired and clean-shaven, falling into his chair at the table. He smiles at Shiro, warm and tired, opening the pizza box and dragging a slice onto one of the plates Shiro set out. 

Shiro feels nauseous at the thought of what he has to do, but he lets Keith inhale a piece of pizza first, figuring this will go better once Keith’s had a chance to eat. It takes less time than he anticipates for the penny to drop, but then Keith’s always been perceptive when it comes to Shiro.

“You’re not eating,” Keith frowns, “are you okay?”

_ Like ripping off a bandaid _ , Shiro thinks, and silently slides the manilla folder across the table to rest beside Keith’s plate. Keith looks apprehensive, but wipes his hands on his pants and reaches for it, opening the cover and staring at the contents. 

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice is utterly flat, “these are annulment papers.”

“I wanted,” Shiro starts, then pauses to steady his voice. “I want you to know that you have a choice.”

The silence hangs between them as Keith takes the papers out and looks them over. His hands are shaking, but his face betrays nothing. 

“They’re filled out,” Keith says, and his voice is still that same flat blade slicing through the air.

“Yes,” Shiro agrees, keeping his hands in his lap so he doesn’t reach for Keith.

“But not signed.”

Shiro bites his lip. “No. Not signed. But I will if you want me to.”

Keith holds the papers in his hands, his body as still as it is before a fight. “What do you want, Shiro?”

“No,” Shiro shakes his head gently, “this isn’t about what I want. This is about you having a choice.”

“You complete fucking idiot, Shiro,” Keith says, holding Shiro’s gaze as he lifts the papers in his hands, ripping them into a multitude of pieces. His voice is no longer flat, but trembling with fury, and Shiro gapes at him where he sits in a small pile of shredded paper. “When have I  _ ever  _ wanted anything but you?”

Shiro can’t help the explosion of feelings in his chest, can’t stop the tears that begin to run down his face, can’t find words to explain anything, so he opens his arms and suddenly Keith is in them, straddled on his lap and pressed as close to him as possible under the existing laws of physics.

“God,” Keith’s saying in his ear, “I leave for  _ one day _ , Shiro, and you draw up fucking  _ annulment papers _ ?” He’s trying to laugh, but his voice is too thick for it. “I have to go spend a whole week with the Blades next month, am I going to come back to a goddamn divorce suit?”

Shiro clutches him harder, his shoulders shaking. Distantly he realizes the lack of sleep is heightening his emotional response, but he can’t make it stop, can’t unclench his arms from around Keith. 

“No,” he chokes out, “Never. I want you, Keith, I just…” He can feel the anger bleed out of Keith’s frame, and then Keith’s hands are running through his hair, his voice whispering soothing sounds into his ear as Shiro shakes beneath him and tries to explain. “Everyone kept saying that we didn’t know what we were doing, and implying that we’d made a mistake, and I… I started to worry that maybe you thought so, too.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Keith says viciously, “ _ we _ are never a mistake, Shiro.  _ Never _ .”

Shiro takes a shuddering breath, hiding his face in Keith’s shoulder and letting the thump of Keith’s heart ground him. 

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel stuck with me,” Shiro says finally, his voice wrecked, but stable.

“Shiro,” Keith says, getting his palms on either side of Shiro’s face and raising it until their eyes meet. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro says automatically, and Keith shakes his head in frustration.

“No, Shiro, listen.” Keith licks his lips, and holds his gaze. “You are my husband, and I  _ love  _ you.”

It’s like the universe stops for a moment, then starts again, and Shiro surges up to kiss him frantically, making Keith laugh into his mouth.

“I love you, too,” Shiro nearly stumbles in his need to get the words out, “Keith, keith.  _ I love you, too _ .”

\--

_ One week earlier _

“How drunk,” Keith asks, and his voice is warm and sweet, his drawl sliding like honey down Shiro’s back, “do you think you are?”

Shiro considers for a moment, staring at their hands, admiring the way their fingers intertwine. 

“Drunker than I’ve been since before Kare… Kerb… before I went to Pluto,” he admits, not even bothering to hide the way he’s staring into Keith’s eyes. They’re deep violet, and the neon lights are reflecting in them like stars. Shiro is riveted. 

Keith gives a happy sigh. “Me too.”

“Well, whaddya know, if it ain’t a pair of lovebirds whiling away the night.” The voice is low and full of twang, thick vowels to match the dark sunglasses and the pompadour hair. “Ain’t you two pretty as a picture?”

“Does that…” Keith whispers not at all subtly in Shiro’s ear while also pointing, “does that man have a  _ cape _ ?”

Shiro bats Keith’s hand down. “Have a little respect, Keith,” he answers, leaning heavily against the wrought-iron fence around the fountains behind him, “that there’s the King.”

The man smiles enigmatically, the sequins on his lapels all aglitter in the low light. 

“I’ve got a special offer,” he says, “one night only, and only for folks as in love as you.”

“What’s he want, Shiro?” Keith’s breath smells like fruity liquor, but that’s no reason for Shiro not to turn and kiss him on the mouth until the stranger coughs discreetly. 

“He wants to marry us,” Shiro answers, entirely unprepared for the way Keith’s entire face lights up. 

“Okay,” Keith says, nodding furiously, then turning to the stranger, who does something funny with his hips that makes his cape swing in the non-existent breeze. “Okay!”

“Keith,” Shiro laughs, letting himself be tugged along as Keith determinedly follows the caped and sequined figure to a door with a neon sign above it. Faint strains of guitar echo from the interior. “Are you sure? You want to get married?”

“No,” Keith says fiercely, throwing his arms around Shiro’s neck and tipping them both off balance. “I want to marry  _ you _ .”

“Okay,” Shiro breathes, and kisses him. “Yes.  _ Yes _ .”

From behind them the stranger says,  _ “well, alright. _ ”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Also, I am 99% sure that I saw this idea on twitter ("Sheith wake up married in Vegas and are just all *shrug*"), but I have NO idea who said it, so: if anyone knows, tell me and I will absolutely credit them. I did not mean to steal the thought, it just really stuck in my brain!!
> 
> come shout at me on twitter or tumblr or pillowfort @zjofierose in all the places and on all the things


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